A Pirate's Life for Me
by YaminekoHyousai
Summary: Captain Sly D. Cooper gathers a powerful pirate crew in order to claim the greatest treasure in the world. Semi-crossover/AU with One Piece. Sly/Carm, Ben/Pen, Mur/Jing
1. Searching for Comrades

_A/N: Well, some people have been waiting for the next chapter of Conflict of Interest. That's on the way as soon as it's checked over, but take this as a sort of peace offering._

_Okay, basically this is a crossover of sorts between Sly Cooper and One Piece. It's basically a One Piece AU, with Devil Fruits and pirates and Marines and such. So, enjoy the adventures of Sly D. Cooper as he forms a powerful crew to claim the greatest treasure in the world._

_And as a final note, I've decided to name all chapters in this story in a similar manner to One Piece episodes._

Chapter 1: Searching for Comrades! – On to the First Island!

The midday sun beamed down on the ocean below, which sparkled brightly in the light breeze. The only object on the seas at that time was a small boat, whose two occupants lay back and relaxed as the wind in their sails carried them towards the nearby island.

"Lepaon island, huh?" one asked quietly, peeking out from beneath his blue cap. "Doesn't look like much."

"Yeah, it is pretty quiet around here," said the other as he adjusted his spectacles. "That's probably because there's a brand new Marine base on a nearby island. That means you need to be careful, all right Sly? No funny business."

"Hey relax, pal; I'm all about discretion," grinned Sly. He paused for a moment. "Anyway, according to those rumors, we should find him here, right?"

The turtle shrugged. "It's quite possible. We heard he was causing trouble on Lepaon, and that was just a couple days ago. He should still be here or on one of the neighboring islands."

"Let's hope so, Bentley," replied the raccoon, pointing to the Jolly Roger flag flapping above their heads. "After all, two isn't enough to make a proper pirate crew."

"I suppose not. Incidentally, about how many people do we need for a proper crew?"

Sly stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, if we're going to be sailing on the Grand Line, we'll need at least 6 more people counting you and me, maybe more."

"And obviously, the first addition has to be good old Murray," Bentley said knowingly, spectacles gleaming.

"Of course!" Sly said eagerly. "I wonder how strong he's gotten."

"Well then, Captain, the sooner we find him, the sooner we find out!"

Sly laughed, rising to his feet and crossing his arms as a fresh breeze blew in from the East.

* * *

"RAAAAAAAAH!"

"OOORAAAAAA!"

The two warthogs crumpled to the ground at the bounty hunters' feet with bone-jarring thumps, joining the other half dozen or so guards in blissful unconsciousness.

"Dat was too easy," one hunter said. "I thought dat 'Sword Dancer' Dimitri would have more guards in his club dan dis!"

The other shrugged, picking his nose idly. "Guess they're all out to lunch, pal. It's our lucky day."

"Well, den, " the first replied. "Let's go finish dis!"

So saying, the speaker, a large ram, strode purposefully toward the double doors on the other side of the room and unceremoniously kicked them in.

"Dimitri!" he bellowed. "We've come to collect da bounty on your head!"

"You better come quietly," guffawed his partner, a bull with a crooked horn. "We got no problem with removin' a few of your limbs." He hefted a gleaming axe for emphasis.

The threats were greeted with several seconds of silence. Then, there was a slight stir from across the room, where a tall, lanky figure slouched behind a desk. The figure stirred, lurching forward in his chair, eyes still closed. "'I'm not really in the mood for any real dancing, bros."

The ram advanced another step, swinging his cudgel in a wide circle. "Well dat's too bad for you."

Dimitri massaged his temples for a moment before responding. "Fine, bro. We'll throw down real heavy-style, just like the movies." He rose to his feet, scabbarded sword in hand, and snapped his bloodshot eyes open. He fixed the hunters with a baleful gaze. "Let's see if you can keep the beat."

"Oh, there's gonna be some beatin'," the Bull snorted. "And after that we're gonna split yer bounty 50-50."

Dimitri eyed the wanted poster. "So my greasy sweet self is now worth 23 million belli? Solid. By the by, did you two crackerboxes really know…" he paused as he walked over to a nearby coat rack, retrieving his green jacket. After slipping the garment on, he drew his sword, a thin, straight bladed affair with a black laquered handle. "…just why they call me the Sword Dancer?"

"Heh, it don't matter to us if you got a sword. Specially if it's a puny thing like dat."

"We'll just break it, then break you."

"Ah well," Dimitri sighed, raising his sword. "Dimitri tried to flash you two a warning. Let's dance."

Next Chapter: Causing Trouble. - The Future Pirate King!

_A/N: If anyone cares, Lepaon island earned its' name from the French term for peacock, which I do believe is "le paon"._


	2. Powder Keg

**Chapter 2: Powder Keg - Sly Causes Trouble**

Scarcely two minutes later Dimitri sheathed his sword, strolling over to the bruised and bleeding forms of the two bounty hunters. He casually lit a cigarette. "So, have my little dance partners rethought their silly scheme?"

The ram tried to struggle up onto one knee, supporting himself with his splintered club. "Go…to…hell…" he spat bloodily.

The club owner squatted down so he was level with his defiant attacker. He exhaled a plume of smoke into the ram's face in a draconic fashion, staring intently. The ram glared blearily back.

"What was, that, Jack? Dimitri couldn't quite hear you," asked the iguana, a deceptively friendly tone to his voice.

"Well then…_Dimitri _can…go fu-"

Before the ram could finish his insult, Dimitri lashed out, gripping the unfortunate's head in a vice grip. The slim reptile then rose to his feet, taking the much larger man with him. With his free hand, he wagged a finger, tsking sadly.

"Watch your sailor talk, bro. This club is a classy joint, and I've had enough of punks like you bumming my house up and bringing me down, dig?"

Dimitri's victim nodded as best he could, indicating that yes, he dug. Unfortunately, the man's friend was not so savvy.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAR!" the bull announced helpfully, charging towards Dimitri with horns lowered.

Dimitri released his grip on the ram's head and, without hesitation, delivered a spinning roundhouse kick to his assailant's head, launching the heavy bovine through a nearby window with a great deal of velocity. He rolled his eyes.

"BRO!" bellowed the ram, swaying dangerously. "You bastard…whaddayou think yer…"

"He was giving me static," Dimitri gave him a patronizing look. "So I gave him the boot, of course." He glanced down at his bloodied footwear. "Or to be more on the money, I gave him the stylish designer shoe."

The bounty hunter growled, taking a step forward and raising a knobby fist. Suddenly, his eyes crossed and his knees buckled. Like a miniature avalanche, the ram crumpled into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

Winthorp sighed to himself. He just wasn't having a good day. His glasses had been smudged, the bartender couldn't mix a decent lemonade if his life depended on it, and now he was being accosted by a large group of boorish thugs. Not just any thugs, but exceptionally ill-tempered thugs; thugs whose attention that Winthorp had been trying his utmost not to attain.

It just wasn't fair.

"We've had enough of you snoopin' about," growled the self-appointed leader of the group, a burly warthog who loomed over all the other patrons of the tavern. "Just who d'you think you are anyway, shrimp?" He tapped Winthorp's chest with a sausagelike finger.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, gentlemen," Winthorp replied. He took a sip from his beverage, grimacing. "I'm just minding my own business."

"Like hell," snarled the thug. "We've seen you skulkin' around the city. Dimitri don't appreciate people poking their snout where it don't belong. Just who d'you work for?"

Winthorp shrugged, shifting his weight slightly so that his hand was positioned near the hilt of his sword. "Look, friend. I don't want any trouble."

Another crook, a wide-mouthed toad, sniggered gleefully. "Then you picked the wrong people to annoy."

"Ain't that the truth. Just what is it with little punks like you pissin' us off lately?" the warthog grumbled. "First that damn hippo gets in the boss's way, now you."

"Excuse me, but did you say hippo?" came a voice from down the bar. The speaker, a slim raccoon who had been sitting next to a turtle in a wheelchair, stood up.

The burly thug snorted, turning a baleful eye on the raccoon. "And what if I did?"

Sly's brown eyes glittered dangerously. "You should tell me. After all, you might be talking about a friend of mine."

The warthog gave a surprised grunt as he regarded the insolent raccoon, who was at least two feet shorter and 300 pounds lighter than him.

_Did this punk have a death wish? _he thought to himself, one calloused hand curling into a fist.

Winthorp tensed, sensing that things were about to take a turn for the interesting.

Slitting his bloodshot eyes, the porcine thug brought his arm around in a swift arc towards Sly's head. With an effortless sliding motion, Sly ducked beneath the wild swing, allowing it to whoosh harmlessly over his head. His headfur scarcely ruffled, Sly made a quick step to position himself back-to-back with his assailant.

"Hah?" grunted the warthog in surprise.

"Check this out," Sly said, giving Winthorp a quick wink as he slipped his weapon out of its sheath.

It was a metal cane with a dull black shaft. One end of the cane held a swordlike grip, while the head of the cane had a bladelike hook, gold in color. Sly hooked the cane's head into the thug's leather belt, lowering his stance. With a sudden twist, he drove an elbow into the warthog's kidney. As the crook doubled over in pain, Sly twisted the other way, launching his opponent into the air. The thug flew head over heels into two other guards, who went down in a heap.

Another smaller porcine thug moved forward to attack Sly with a heavy cudgel, but instead collapsed with a grunt, two green darts protruding from his back. A rat standing next to him attempted to draw a pistol, but caught a third dart in the shoulder.

"Nice work, Bentley!" Sly congratulated his friend, bringing his cane around to bludgeon the wide-mouthed toad, who was too slow in retreating. He ducked under a projectile thrown by another scrawny rat, then hooked a chair with his cane and propelled it into his attacker's face.

Another thug, a one-eyed rat had decided for some reason that a turtle in a wheelchair wielding a dart gun seemed to be easier prey than a raccoon swinging around a metal cane. He charged Bentley with a twisted smirk on his face. The smirk quickly transformed into a grimace of pain as one of the smaller wheels extended, crashing directly into the rat's groin. He went down with scarcely a whimper. Bentley then spun his chair into a knot of thugs, the extended wheels bludgeoning anyone within reach.

The warthog who had been flung by Sly struggled to his feet using one of the barstools as a handhold. Winthorp shrugged, deciding to take the opportunity to strike a blow of his own. He lashed out with the hilt of his sword, catching the behemoth in the jaw and sending him to the floor for a second time.

The last few conscious guards quickly decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and fled without even stopping to aid their fallen companions.

Sly watched them go with a lopsided grin, leaning against the bar. He winked at Winthorp, who was watching him closely.

"You all right?" he asked.

Winthorp nodded. "Many thanks," he said mildly, adjusting his glasses. "I honestly thought I was in trouble for a moment."

Sly shook his head and grinned ruefully. "I guess it was pretty exciting, huh. Sorry about that, Mr…"

"Winthorp" the weasel proffered his hand. "Call me Winthorp. And you two are?"

Sly sheathed his weapon before accepting the handshake. "My friend there is Bentley. I'm Sly Cooper. The man who will someday be called King of the P-"

"Sorry, Sly, but we should really get going," Bentley interrupted, glancing out into the street. "Things could get pretty dicey if we stay in this bar."

"I should probably get going, too," Winthorp admitted, a half-anxious, half-curious expression on his face. "But first…you said earlier that you were looking for a hippo friend of yours."

Sly nodded.

"Well, there was a large pink hippo on Lepaon a few days ago. He managed to cause quite a disturbance down at Dimitri's club. Several broken bones."

"Sounds like Murray," Sly quipped. "Where'd he go after that?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Winthorp. "According to some conversations I overheard between Dimitri's guards, he wasn't captured, and I haven't seen him on the island since."

"So you're saying if anyone knows where he is, it's this Dimitri guy?"

A concerned expression fell over Winthorp's face. "Yes, but-"

"Thanks, pal!" Sly had given Winthorp's hand another hearty shake and was out the door before Winthorp could say anything more. "Catch you later!" he called back.

Winthorp sighed and downed the rest of his sour lemonade.

* * *

"It's me."

"_You sound agitated, Master Chief Petty Officer," _a smooth female voice replied from the other end of the line.

"Things got a little exciting, Captain."

"_Again?_" the woman's voice had an irritated tone. "_Fine. Tell me what happened._"

"Right away!" Winthorp saluted the phone snail. "Apparently my activities have not gone unnoticed by some of Dimitri's men."

"_Please tell me your cover wasn't completely blown._"

"No," the weasel said, relieved. "They had no idea of my actual identity. They just saw me as a 'nosy punk' and attempted to take corrective action. Fortunately a nearby traveler attracted their ire and summarily pummeled them. I didn't even need to draw my own sword."

"_Doing nothing isn't usually something to be proud of, Winthorp._" The woman's voice now sounded slightly amused.

"No, Captain," he agreed, blushing slightly. "But I have some more bad news. This brawl looks like could trigger a larger incident, and soon. I don't think I can handle everything here by myself."

There was a long pause. "_Stay put for now. I'll contact you with new orders this evening. Is that understood, Winthorp?_"

"Understood, Captain Fox."

Captain Carmelita Fox gritted her teeth and hung up the phone snail. "Damn. As if I didn't have enough to deal with."

A large gorilla glanced up from the paperwork he was working on.

"Now what, Captain?" he growled in a heavily accented voice. "That brat screw up again?"

"Watch your mouth, Lieutenant," the fox warned, getting to her feet and brushing a strand of long blue hair out of her eyes. "Just another brawl on Lepaon."

"That Dimitri's been causing a lot of trouble lately."

"Not for long," the Marine Captain said coldly.

"You want I should take care of it?"

"No," she said, pulling on a white jacket. "I'm tired of this. I'll be taking care of Dimitri personally."

Gronk raised an eyebrow. "But, Captain Fox-"

"No buts, Lieutenant Gronk!" she snapped. "I'm setting off immediately, provided that a ship is ready to depart."

Gronk tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. "We just resupplied one of our brigantine sloops, the Reliant." He paused for a moment before answering her obvious next question. "Her crew is standing by and she can be ready to sail within the hour."

Carmelita slipped an oversized jutte into a sling on her back and holstered a large pistol. "Good. Get them ready. I want to reach Lepaon before nightfall."

Gronk saluted "Right away!"

Pausing by the door, the Captain turned back for one last order. "You're in charge again while I'm gone, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant made a face and Carmelita sighed.

"Look, just try to keep the base standing until I get back."

The gorilla thought for a moment. He shrugged.

"I'll see what I can do, Ma'am."

* * *

"Are you sure you want to stick around, Sly?" Bentley asked his friend. "Murray's probably not even on the island anymore, and those thugs could be trouble."

Sly smiled. "You heard what Winthorp said, didn't you Bentley?"

"Yeah, but still, are we just gonna ask Dimitri if he _happens _to know where Murray, a guy that attacked him, went? I've read about this Dimitri guy, Sly; he plays rough."

"Sure, we just have to ask nicely."

Bentley sighed heavily. "Really? And how are we even going to make it to Dimitri through all his guards? You're a hell of a fighter, Sly, but I still don't like the odds."

Sly's eyes twinkled merrily. "We'll think of something."

"You mean _I'll_ think of something."

"Isn't that what I said?"

**Next Chapter: Let's Dance! – The Fruit of the Devil.**


	3. By Invitation Only

_A/N: Sorry for the delay. School sucks and all that. There'll be another delay in all my stories, I'm afraid, as I'm heading for Europe for the next month or so. Before I left, though, I decided to quickly finish this chapter up. Hope it's acceptable._

Chapter 3: By Invitation Only

* * *

A number of rats, warthogs, and toads lounged outside the main entrance to Dimitri's club, drinking, cursing, and napping (as low-quality hired thugs are wont to do). Sly shook his head sadly as he looked at the sorry assortment from his hiding place in the shadows.

_This'll be all too easy,_ he thought to himself as he stepped out into view.

"Hey, assorted goons!" Sly called out, grinning widely. "A minute of your time, please!"

"Hah?" queried one rat.

"Whut?" grunted another.

"Waitaminnit!" gasped a third, one of the toads who had received a thrashing from Sly and Bentley earlier in the day. He turned the huge scarred warthog next to him and shook him awake. "Dat's him! D-dat's the guy!"

"Da one who beat da crap outta you guys was that little runt?" the pig snorted. "Man, no wonder you're all embarrassed."

"You weren't even there, man…" the toad trailed off as the larger thug glared at him.

The warthog's gaze swiveled over to Sly. "Jus' what the hell d'you want here, anyway?"

."Oh, I was just wondering," Sly asked politely. "Whether Dimitri hires nothing but slow, incompetent and ugly meatheads on purpose, or whether it's just bad luck."

_That should do it,_ he thought.

The warthog ground his teeth together audibly. "Get everyone together, Stan," he hissed to the toad.

"What d'you mean by everyone, Bill?"

"EVERYONE!" screamed the warthog in reply. "Everyone you can find who's not busy with da boss! We'll take this punk apart!"

Gulping nervously, Stan raised his alarm horn to his lips, letting out a loud insistent croak that echoed throughout the courtyard. All at once, a tide of thugs began swarming out of the club, brandishing pistols, clubs, swords, and other assorted implements of mayhem.

"Any last words?" growled the scarred warthog.

"Not yet," admitted Sly. "I'll get back to you when I think of some."

He quickly pulled a small marble-sized sphere from his pouch and shattered it on the ground, obscuring him in a cloud of smoke.

"Hoy!" protested Bill, pointing as he noticed a shadowy shape running out of the cloud towards the alley. "He's makin' a break for it! Get 'im!"

"But Bill, what if it's a tr-"

"Shaddap and run, Stan."

* * *

The shadowy figure led Dimitri's guards on a merry chase around the city through the back alleys, all the way to the town's main square. There, the guards' prey faltered, pausing for too long as he hovered over a small open chest next to the fountain.

"Eat this!" roared Bill, blasting his target with his pistol. Rather than screaming and bleeding as raccoons generally did, however, this one exploded into a hundred scraps of black rubber. The warthog laughed in triumph for a few seconds before realizing his mistake.

"Where'd he go?" gaped Bill.

"Dunno," shrugged Stan, hopping over to the chest. "Looks like he dropped somethin', though."

He rummaged in the chest for a second, pulling out two items. The first was a simple white paper envelope, the second a light metal sphere with the symbol of the Cooper Pirates (a stylized raccoon head over a pair of crossed hooked blades).

"Lemme see that!" Bill snarled bossily, snatching the envelope from the amphibian's grip. "You know you can't read."

"Whatsit say?" shouted a number of the thugs.

The warthog opened the envelope and scanned the contents.

"Sweet Dreams?" he read aloud? "What the fu-"

There was a beep, a loud bang, and suddenly the town square was filled with a thick green cloud of smoke. Within the space of a few seconds, Dimiri's entire security force coughed, yawned, and crumpled into a deep sleep.

Sly watched the scene from a building some distance away through his binoculars.

"Nice job on the explosion Bentley, first rate!"

Bentley cleaned his glasses self-consciously. "I simply followed the basic design from the Thievious Raccoonus and gave it my own special touch. Those Cooper Balls are amazing feats of explosive engineering."

"I know, the book says some of the bigger ones could take out a Sea King in one shot."

"That would be a bit overkill in this situation, so I simply went with one of the smaller models, and replaced most of the payload with the same stuff I use in my darts, and voila! Instant slumber party."

"Nice job, pal," Sly grinned. "Now let's hurry and get to Dimitri's place. I have a feeling that we won't have any more problems gaining admission to the club."

"Right," affirmed Bentley. "I'll stash the RC car near the boat, so we can pick it up quickly on the way out of town in case we need to make a quick exit."

* * *

Sly pushed open the door to the club's main lobby, then stared at the very curious figure looming before him and Bentley. Like many of Dimitri's underlings he was a warthog, but loomed at least a head higher than any of his compatriots. Rather than the garishly colored leisure outfits of the other guards, he wore a strange black leather jacket, complete with far-too-short leather shorts. He wore large sunglasses, despite the fact that it was evening, and bobbed his head in time to the music piping over the club's speakers. Every few seconds, he would shift position, flexing and posing as if he were some kind of bodybuilder or model. Sly and Bentley exchanged a glance as they approached.

"Hey, hey!" the porcine behemoth rumbled cheerfully as they approached. "Looks like you made it to the party, hey!"

Sly raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware we were invited, Mr…"

"Ramon," grunted the warthog, shifting his pose again. "Razorback Ramon. Maybe you've heard of me, hey?"

Sly and Bentley both shook their heads.

"Oh well," Ramon shrugged. "Guess you're here to see the big boss? He's expecting you, so head on through, hey."

"How obliging," Sly mused, and nodded politely as he and Bentley moved towards the door.

"_Wait!_" shouted Ramon, bringing them to a sudden stop. "Big boss don't wanna see small fry, only wants the boss-"

"Captain," interrupted Sly.

"Whatever," agreed the warthog. "He just wants the captain, hey! The other young man will have to wait with me." He struck another ridiculous pose.

Sly's eyes immediately darted over to his friend, who smiled.

"Don't worry Sly, you go on ahead." Bentley adjusted his glasses. "I'll be fine."

"You sure, pal? Could be a trap to separate us."

"A definite possibility," Bentley grinned. "But I'm not worried. They're underestimating us, and we'll just have to show them the error of that way of thinking."

Sly nodded to Bentley and proceeded through a bright pink hallway into the club's main dance floor. The room was painted in ghastly shades of fuchsia, blue, and green, eerily lit by dancing spotlights and a glowing disco ball. The club's master peered down at his guest from the second floor balcony, tapping his bejeweled fingers against the railing. He was dressed in his best green suit, and his thin sword leaned close at hand against the wall.

Dimitri cleared his throat imperiously. "So, Raccoonus Doodus, you're the one who's been bringing the beatdown on my nightclub samurai, eh? So very uncool. Why can't you just let birds and bees be free, bro?"

"Hey, don't blame me," protested Sly. "They're the ones that started it."

Sly's tone was light, but he stayed on his guard in front of the iguana. So far Dimitri seemed merely eccentric, but he knew better than to underestimate a man with a 23 million-belli bounty.

"Maybe so, maybe no," Dimitri muttered, eyeing Sly carefully. "In any case, you seem to have a problem with Dimitri."

Sly shook his head. "Not at all, pal. I'm just looking for information on a friend of mine. "

"Information? Well, in that case," Dimitri spread his hands wide, smiling. Information was one of many things he dealt in. He wasn't entirely thrilled with the trouble this raccoon had caused in town, but you learn to accept these things when dealing with a criminal clientele.

"I'm sure the two of us can work something out, yah? We smooth, yah?" Dimitri rubbed his hands together. "So, tell Dimitri: just who is the cracker-box that you be looking for, hmm?"

"A good friend of mine," Sly replied easily. "A guy named Murray."

Dimitri's smile froze. "…Murray?"

"That's right. Big guy. Hippo. Pink. Seen him around?"

"You might be sayin' that, raccoon," grumbled Dimitri. "You also might be sayin' that he came into my club and threw down hardcore with a couple of my boys. That action was BREAK-dancing, bro, with a capital BREAK."

"Ah, that sounds like him," Sly confirmed placidly. "So where'd he go after that?"

The iguana looked hard at Sly for a few moments, then shrugged and lit a cigarette.

"Stole one of my little boats and scooted off towards Venicia," he finally replied, referring to the nearest island.

"Venicia, huh?" mused Sly. "Bentley and I can probably catch up with him if we hurry."

Dimitri exhaled a plume of smoke. "What's your rush, bro? You might be able to do that, so long as you settle up all accounts with Dimitri, eh?"

"And what would that entail?"

"You see, I find myself the not-so-proud owner of a bunch of brand new property damage, some of which was caused by a certain raccoon and his little friends. Expensive damages, the kind that cost mad bling to fix, dig?" He gave an oily smile before continuing. "Some would say that you owe Dimitri some restitution, yes? A little good faith payment for the damages and the information given, hmm?"

A sheepish, slightly crooked smile crossed Sly's face. "Oh, I gotcha, Dimitri. But you see, the thing is…the Cooper Pirates are a little low on cash at the moment. But, once I find One Piece and become king of the pirates I can get you all the 'bling' you want."

Dimitri's expression hardened as Sly's explanation continued, at least until he heard the words "One Piece" and "king of the pirates". At that point, his expression changed from anger to stunned disbelief. Unable to control himself, the iguana burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, one that went on far longer than would be considered polite.

"One Piece?" he sputtered, once he had recovered his composure. "Are you telling me that you intend to find the legendary treasure of the Pirate King himself, Gold Roger?"

Sly nodded brightly.

"One Piece, the treasure that lies at the end of the Grand Line, the most deadly sea in the world? A sea that is, by all accountings, not a nice place to visit or bring the kids?"

Sly nodded again.

"The treasure that practically every pirate, buccaneer, cutthroat, mercenary, murderer, smuggler, thief, corsair, marauder, pickpocket, raider, adventurer, thug, robber, and their grandmother wants to snag? That One Piece? Is that what you're sayin', Jack?"

"That's the one," Sly confirmed.

"You must be pulling Dimitri's leg!" snorted the iguana. "You've got a scrawny raccoon and a turtle in a wheelchair. Answer me this: How can the two of you hope to possibly get the big prize**?** Question mark in bold."

"Actually, once we get Murray, there'll be three of us," corrected Sly. "Plus, we can always recruit more crew members along the way."

"Enough of this bad joke, bro," Dimitri growled. "This joke of yours is as bad as the ones with priests crossing the road or chickens walking into a bar!" The iguana drew his thin rapier slowly from its sheath as he continued to rant. "Don't show me a little mind when talking of such big things. You think you can swing the bat? Then show your bling and let me shine you!"

Sly cocked his head in confusion, dropping a hand to the hilt of his own weapon. "Pardon?"

"If you've got the fuzzy dice to go after One Piece, raccoon, you best be ready for any snags along the way, dig?" Dimitri's expression was a strange mix of eagerness and irritation.

"Let me guess: you're one of those snags?" Sly asked sardonically as he drew his cane.

"The snaggiest, baby!" Dimitri crowed, bringing his blade to bear. "LET'S DANCE!"

* * *

Next Chapter: Let's Dance! : Sly vs. Dimitri


End file.
